Choosing Pride
by Ramzes
Summary: After the Great Spring Sickness, changes were made. A king chose his Hand. A prince chose his pride. And that came at a price for everyone involved.
1. Betrayal

**Huge thanks to ariel2me for inspiring me to finally come around to working on this story.**

Choosing Pride

_Betrayal_

She was sitting in the bottom of the blue chamber, near the window, immaculately attired and supremely elegant as ever. Her finely chiseled profile shone white against the green that could be seen out the window, the crimson and yellow flowers of a spring that had finally brought renewal after indulging itself in death for so long.

"Why have you hidden yourself here, of all places?"

The new Queen left her embroidery aside and rose to curtsey. "It's the only place I can find some peace," she explained. The smallest room in the bottom of her chambers was the only place where she could be almost isolated from the noise of her attires and belongings being moved to Maegor's Holdfast. "It's light and aired here," she went on, smiling a little. "What is there not to like?"

"May I take a seat?" he asked and she shrugged.

"This is your castle, Your Grace, and I live here by your benevolence."

The words were even but Aerys felt the barb. It reminded him uncomfortably of the time when they were first married, when she had expected a real marital life and he hadn't been willing to give that to her. In her anger, she had turned to irony and sarcastic politeness. Now, she had made a few attempts once again to attract him to her bed, clearly expecting that he'd go around fathering an heir. Once she had realized it wouldn't happen, she had returned to the behavior that made him go out of his way to avoid her. That mocking subservience made him jump out of his skin, a fact that seemed to please Aelinor to no end. _Definitely one of the bad things of marrying someone you've known your entire life,_ Aerys thought. _They know how to make your blood boil._

But he had no wish to quarrel with her. He took a seat and breathed in the fresh air that everyone appreciated after the Great Spring Sickness.

"When are your chambers going to be ready?" he asked.

Aelinor took the embroidery back in her lap. "In two days, I suppose," she answered guardedly. Why this interest in her accommodations all of a sudden? He certainly wouldn't suggest that she share the King's chamber with him until her own became ready.

Out in the garden, children's voices rose. Aelinor recognized her niece Rhae's voice and smiled. A careful look showed her a great activity around a chestnut-tree. Rhae wielded a knife – a sight that made Aelinor shiver in fear – and cut the decaying branches away while her sister Daella was picking up the fallen leaves. They were laughing and talking animatedly, their young age letting them get over the devastation of the sickness faster than those who were fully grown up could.

Aerys had come to see what was going on; now, he looked at her, his surprise clear. "They look so happy and healthy," he said. "I could never say that Daella had survived the sickness by looking at her."

Aelinor examined him carefully. _He's right_, she realized. Aerys and Rhaegel had both lived through the disease that had taken their royal father and they still bore the traces of it – the paleness, that terrifying gauntness, the inability to stand in the sun for long, for their eyes stung. Daella looked just as she always had, her black hair shone, although it had yet to grow after they had cut it off while she had been laying with fever, her indigo eyes as wide and curious as ever. She had all her energy back and even gained a little more. _She's celebrating the fact that she's alive_, Aelinor thought. "Maybe children recover more easily," she said. _I want to have a child like her_, she went on, silently. _Like Rhae. With anyone else, I could have been a grandmother already._

She had no idea that her feelings were writ so plainly on her face. Aerys looked aside, guilt and anger rising. "Why are they on their own?" he asked. "Where is their septa? Why doesn't Maekar take better care of his children?"

Aelinor looked at him as if he was asking whether the sun rose in the east. "Their septa died," she explained. "As did most of their friends here. The rest of them aren't allowed outside their chambers, there's still this fear that the sickness might not be fully gone."

Aerys sighed. "So much has changed, hasn't it?"

"Indeed," she said coolly. _Not you, though. Prince or King, you're still the same_.

He turned his back to the window and returned to his seat. "I have made up my mind," he said. "About the Small Council, I mean… well, I have started choosing the people. Brynden will be my Hand…"

Aelinor drew a breath, sharply. So, that was why he had come to her. Aerys hated all kinds of confrontations. He'd rather hide from them behind his books… but someone had to take the storm. "You want me to tell Maekar, don't you?" she asked bluntly.

"That would save time," he admitted. "You've always been able to deal with him better than I have."

"Oh yes," she mocked. "Wonder why that is. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you're just as good as dealing with people as he is. Which is to say, no good at all."

He did not rise to the bait. "It will be easier on him if he hears it from you," he said instead. "You're remarkable at making him see reason. He'll be raised to…"

_Aerys, you fool_, she thought without bothering to listen. Maekar would not be raised to anything… because he wouldn't accept anything less than what he would be denied. There was no way for that to be easy on him. He did want this position… and to lose it to Brynden, of all people, would make it harder. As proud and hard as he was, he only wanted what he felt was his by right or merit. After that terrible tourney, that trait of his had only gone stronger. He'd never dream of reaching for anything that was not meant for him… but he wouldn't take lightly being deprived of something he truly wanted and felt he deserved either. His view of the world had only become coloured in deeper black and white and Aerys still hoped Aelinor would be able to lead him to the grey. Once, she might have. But not anymore. Maekar would never see _reason_. Not about this.

"The decision was not mine," she snapped. "I see no reason to take the heat for you."

"Not for me, do it for Maekar."

Right now, Aelinor would gladly throw both of them under the hooves of the first horse she saw. They were bad at dealing with people and rarely even tried anymore exactly because they knew she was there to do it for them!

"Fine," she spat. Of course, she had to shoulder the unpleasant conversation. At this moment, the kingdom could ill afford discord and breaking relations between various members of the royal family and that was exactly what would happen if she let the two men settle the matter. Not that she put much faith in her own ability to make Maekar see reason, especially when _she_ could see no reason why he wouldn't be made Hand of the King but there was at least a slim chance of avoiding the disaster. "I'll do it. Now, would you please leave me alone so I can address the task?"

Surprised and clearly relieved, he took himself off with speed that made a sarcastic smile play over her lips. A mockery their marriage might be but there was something very real to it: she was turning into a veritable shrew. But then, she had seen thirty seven namedays already and she faced the perspective of spending the next thirty seven into this sham, with the entire realm watching. No, by the gods, if she was going to suffer, than it was only just to make Aerys' life a little harsher, as well!

* * *

"What are they doing?"

Aelinor blinked, snapped from her thoughts. She had not even noticed Maekar's arrival. He was standing next to her, staring at his daughters through the window. Aelinor took a look and smiled at seeing what the girls were playing at in the bright sun. Having taken care of the tree, they had now changed themselves into gowns that trailed far behind them and billowed around their tiny frames. Their necks were adorned with whatever jewels they had. They had even painted their faces – quite successfully, at that, their lack of experience accounted.

"I suppose that's a way of making some use of your old gowns," Maekar said practically. "They are yours, aren't they?"

Despite her fearful anticipation of the upcoming conversation, Aelinor felt a little warmth spreading through her. She wished she could delay the moment of truth and simply enjoy the moment. For all his sternness and demands that he had of his sons, Maekar indulged his daughters to no end. And since the girls were too young to remember their mother properly, it was easy for Aelinor to let herself pretend that they were hers… as well as he.

"Daenerys and I used to play with Grandmother's gowns like this," she said.

"I remember." There was a slight hint of a smile on Maekar's lips as he stared at the girls. "But I think you never looked this ridiculous."

"Or maybe you just never noticed," Aelinor mused.

He considered this. "That might be it."

Yes, despite the specifics of their prolonged staying here, broken only by short intervals meant to show goodwill and disguise the fact that they had been King Aegon's hostages for their father's good behavior, they had been children, finding joy through children's eyes.

He took a seat – the same one Aerys had taken earlier, she noticed – and had a brief look at her embroidery. Without him saying anything, Aelinor felt what he was thinking. He had never seen her with a needle if she could avoid it. Probably wondered whether she even knew how to sew.

"We need to talk," she said quickly, suddenly wishing for this conversation to be over. "Aerys has made his choice about who would sit in the Small Council," she went on.

He looked at her and she groaned inwardly – in fact, quite outwardly – because she could already say that the conversation wouldn't be as unpleasant as she expected. It would be more unpleasant.

"He's decided to make Brynden his Hand…" she started and paused.

His face was inscrutable. For a wild moment, she wondered whether he had heard her at all. But then he smiled, albeit tightly, and she realized that he had expected something like this. He had hoped, yes, but he had never truly believed that he'd be chosen. Then again, with Baelor's death he seemed to have lost a good deal of any hopes and beliefs . "Aelinor," he said. "I am not angry with you."

She hated herself for the relief that made her hands and feet melt. Had she sunken this low, let herself become so dependable on him? Was she so desperate to stay in his _good graces_? By the Mother, what a wretch she had become!

"I am glad to hear it," she said, hoping that the storm she had envisioned would not come to pass. "You'd be…"

"Don't," he interrupted and Aelinor noticed the pulse beating on his temple, his effort to keep his feelings in check. _So much for hoping that it would be easier._ "I don't want to hear it. I am not interested at all."

For a moment, they kept staring at each other, the situation clear to both of them. All of a sudden, Aelinor started shaking with cold and he looked around for a cover. She snuggled under the fox skin.

"What are you going to do?" she asked helplessly.

He looked away. "I will not stay here, that's for sure."

The horror shooting past her was so primal and fierce that for a moment, she could swear that her blood had frozen. She was never the one to lie to herself. The thought of him leaving King's Landing… leaving her… was more than she could bear, and not only because of her love for him. In fact, love was not even the bigger part of it. It was the fear of being alone, the stark realization that she was an aging woman with no chance to attract Aerys in the few years that she still had left to conceive. To her, Maekar had always been a mainstay, although he often made her fly into a rage. And now, he was just going to remove himself from the situation. She, though, she had no choice but stay… and he knew that. He just didn't care. Not enough, in any case. The renewed closeness they had discovered after Naeryn's death, the nightmare that had been Baelor's – none of that mattered when measured against his precious pride.

"What about the girls?" she asked and he looked surprised that she had.

"The girls? They will come with me, of course."

_Of course._ Aelinor felt another sarcastic smile fight his way to her lips, this one addressed at her own greed and wishes which had blinded her to reality. It was all good and right for Maekar to use her for giving maternal affection to Daella and Rhae. He probably realized that it was important to her, as well, so why not keep everyone happy? But at the end of it, she was not their mother. He was their father and he would take them away, as could be expected. And it wasn't even his fault. He had let her have her illusion but he certainly hadn't pushed her into it.

"Very well," she agreed and there was something in her voice that made him see past his own feelings of slight and offense. His eyes focused on her, thoughtful and narrowed, trying to understand her meaning. When he spoke, even his anger seemed to have abated.

"Aelinor. That has nothing to do with you. I just can't stay, that's all."

"Naturally," she conceded. "_Naturally_ you can't stay."

She would never ask him to, never humble her pride like this… and risk the humiliation of a refusal on top of it. He knew what his leaving would mean to her because it would mean the same to him. In fact, Aelinor suspected that it would be even harder on him because she, at least, had other people in her life while he only had her. But he was ready to sacrifice her and himself, everything, on the altar of his bruised pride.

"Now, hear me out, dear brother of mine," she said softly, dangerously, feeling composure as cold as they said the winters at the Wall were. "If you do it, if you leave, you can as well never return. To me, I mean. You might mend your relation with Aerys but you leave this keep, you can forget about me. Because I am already tired of you."

She saw the moment his anger toward Aerys and Brynden turned against her, as well, and she welcomed it. She would love nothing more than a fight. But in the silence, the girls' voices came from somewhere nearer to them. They both looked out and then at each other with the same thought: if they continued this conversation, Rhae and Daella would find them in the middle of a full-scale row.

Maekar grinded his teeth and bowed to her. She waved a hand, dismissing him like a servant.

_It's over_, she thought when the door closed behind him with a final click. _It's finally over. Thirty five years of love and anger, and support, and wounds, all gone. Over._ Right now, not even the pain of this new betrayal could reach her heart and animate it.


	2. A Lonely Summer - Summerhall

**Big thanks to VVSINGOFTHECROSS for the review.**

Choosing Pride

_A Lonely Summer - Summerhall_

The sky was blue and flawless, the small white puffs mere decorations, rather than threats of upcoming rain. The smell of the forest downhill was drifting up and up, strong and heady. _It's strange how I notice it_, Maekar thought. As far as he could say, he was the only one who did. It was so different from the stench enveloping King's Landing. He often had the feeling that the smell clogged his lungs as he spurred his stallion and anticipated the joyful moment when he could be high enough above the city to draw actual breath.

He had always preferred Summerhall to King's Landing. To him, it felt like home, the one he had been torn from to be thrown amidst the serpent pit that was King Aegon's court. He could not imagine what he would have done if he didn't have this castle to return to after the insult Aerys had dealt him. He couldn't have stayed at King's Landing, that much was clear. But where would he have gone? He didn't know.

His daughters were already seated when he appeared. Daeron was nowhere to be seen. _Probably sleeping a hangover away_, Maekar thought disdainfully. The troubling thing was the fact that he didn't even mind anymore – he had come to appreciate the quite mornings where it was only him and the girls. _Or the not so quiet mornings_, he checked himself, listening to Rhae and Daella chattering away about kittens, gowns and lessons, Aegon who had recently sent a letter from Oldtown – Oldtown! – and everything under the sun.

The mountains of letters that awaited him on his writing table would have made him groan, had he been a man who didn't mind showing his irritation at such tasks. That was the way his day always began, yet there were days when his correspondence was mercifully small. Days unlike this one. He took his seat and reached for the first one with the thought that the sooner he started going through them, the sooner it would be over.

His father had always sorted his letters by the region the known correspondence were from; Baelor had used to go through them without breaking the seals, just to get a general idea of who sent them. Maekar, though, always went through the missives meticulously, starting with the one atop of the stack and finishing with the one at the bottom.

"Are you never curious?" Baelor had asked often many years ago. "Don't you want to know?"

Maekar had only given him a look of incomprehension. "I'll know anyway, is that not so?"

Here, Baelor sighed dramatically and wondered how Maekar could have been born without a spark of curiosity.

_Go away_, _Baelor_, he thought now. _Leave me alone. Please._

For a moment, he could almost swear that he saw dark indigo eyes, eyes that could almost pass for black, and the slightest hint of mirth behind a mouth that did not quite grin. _What? I am not doing anything._

Maekar shook his head to chase the ghost away and his brother agreeably withdrew. He knew where to pick his battles, Baelor. In bright daylight, he was easy to push away. At night, though… That was another thing that he had not considered before leaving King's Landing. There, with Aelinor to anchor and accept him, guilt and regrets were easier to bear. But here, on his own…

The first letter was from Lord Caron. Maekar smiled for a moment, as amazed as usual by the man's many talents. He had never known that someone might be a famed knight, _as well as_ a gifted musician, _as well as _an able administrator before Pearse Caron grew up. As usual, he was giving his three month report about the state his lands were in – a good one, just like Maekar expected. The Marches had not been quite spared the devastation of the Great Spring Sickness but that has been nothing compared to the horrors of King's Landing and Lannisport, the Stranger's pale mare galloping wherever she liked uncontrollably.

"_Dining direwolves,"_ his father said in his head. It felt so strange that his last memory of Daeron would be no farewell, not even an order on what to do next in the afflicted city but a jest. The King had wanted it so. Once again, Maekar was reminded of the last time he had seen him alive. Daeron had come, late into the night, in his solar where he and Aelinor sat before retiring. They had been playing a stupid name game, one they had loved as children… How Aelinor had wept in the night after they had given their father's body to the flames. Even then, as he held her shaking body, Maekar had not found tears in his own eyes. He could not remember when, exactly, he had lost them. Sometime before his tenth nameday, for sure.

The next letter turned his look harsher. Wouldn't those two stop arguing over the damned river already? The clash had started well before Maekar was given Summerhall and it was still running strong. _I swear, I have half the mind to dry the river at all and leave both of them with nothing._ He left the missive aside, in the tray meant for letters meriting further consideration.

At the first glimpse of the third letter, his heart started beating faster. The dragon seal. As furious as he was with Aerys, he did not want the coldness to last forever. He simply couldn't force himself to make the first step. But a second look showed him that the seal was not his brother's and disappointment shot through him, taking him by surprise as always – he was so adamant that he was not hoping for reconciliation.

For a moment, he was tempted to bury Aerion's letter under all others and postpone opening it. Of course, such a thing would go against his meticulous nature, so he sighed and opened it. His eyes perused the lines, taking them in a single look before inspecting them closer. Aerion felt fine – no surprise here, since he had inherited Maekar's own strong constitution. And of course, he needed money. Maekar grinded his teeth and decided that he did not want to know what in the seven hells the boy had done with his quite generous upkeep.

_If he thinks he'll get a single dragon more from me, he's sadly mistaken,_ he thought. I am done with it. _For once, Aerion will have to take care of himself and I don't care how he does it. _

His anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. Maekar Targaryen was a man who, having once made his mind, rarely revisited his decisions, unless there was a pressing reason to. Not giving Aerion's predicament another thought, he threw the letter in the tray where unneeded ones were collected. He saw little use of destroying perfectly serviceable parchments, so Aerion's letter, along with many ones, would be reworked, the words rubbed away, and the calfskin used for another record.

_I'll have to warn Aelinor to turn him down if he seeks her aid as well_, Maekar thought before remembering, with a suddenly heavy heart, that he and his sister were no longer on speaking terms. He was sure that any letter of his addressed to her would meet the same fate Aerion's letter to him did, with the sole distinction that Aelinor would not bother to read it.

On and on the morning went and the stack at last started to decrease. Maekar was just thinking that soon he'd be able to go to out for a ride when the sight of the last letter made his breath catch. This was the royal sigil but the writing… he recognized it immediately. Aelinor might not be good with needle – or she might be, he simply hadn't seen her taking one when not needed – but she could rival any clerk or Aerys himself in elegance of handwriting. But no, the letter was not addressed to him. It was Aelinor's weekly missive to the girls, brought to him by mistake.

Suddenly, another being stirred within him, raised his hand, pushed it towards the sealed parchment that he had left on the table. After all, he was entitled to know what kind of letters his daughters received, was he not? There was a number of years separating them from their tenth nameday. Only the gods knew what King's Landing had turned into those days. He had a duty not to let that rub on the girls.

Slowly, painfully, he forced his hand back. What was he thinking? As if Aelinor would ever write something that might upset Rhae and Daella. He was just scrambling for excuse to see what she wrote, to feel closer to her, maybe. He might be rightfully offended but the two way correspondence with King's Landing was cut off all the same. Now all he received were the official news and rumours everyone else did. Aerys and Aelinor flung his own stony silence back at him. Has Brynden started influencing Aerys even more? Maekar could not give a single reason for his dislike of the man. Oh he could point out a thousand but not one that truly mattered. He simply didn't share his father and brothers' trust of Bloodraven and his covert ways. Magic was a dangerous thing, corrupting those who practiced it. Maekar was glad it had gone away, even with taking the dragons along. Who knew just how far gone Brynden Rivers was? Now, when he was no longer near to see for himself what was going on, he had to rely on the rumours alone – and they were all but soothing! If the gossip about his power over Aerys was true, that could mean a disaster.

Was Aelinor healing? The Great Spring Sickness, on top of Baelor's death by Maekar's own hand had shaken her quite badly. She had become gaunt and quieter than usual. He had heard that she prayed every day to the Mother to bless her with child, yet she was way too clever to rely on the gods alone. She had probably made attempts in another direction… and Aerys had rejected her again. Maekar knew her pride better than anyone. She would never let her hurt show but she certainly felt it, especially now, when she grew older and her chances smaller with each passing day. The thought of the children that had to come, Aerys and Aelinor's children, was quite haunting, yet the thought of them not coming was even more troubling, for both Maekar and the realm. Aelinor needed a child. The realm needed an heir. And Aerys was doing nothing about it, as far as Maekar could say – and he could not say anything for sure because of his isolation from the rest of the family. Once again, he almost reached for the parchment.

He rose and summoned a servant. "Bring this letter to my daughters," he ordered. He wanted the parchment gone before he succumbed to temptation and disgrace himself by reading a missive not meant for him when there was no reason for him to.


	3. A Lonely Summer - King's Landing

Choosing Pride

_A Lonely Summer – King's Landing_

The heat was such that as early as an hour after sunrise, Aelinor's handmaidens closed all the shutters in her chambers. The small fountains in her bedchamber and solar cooled the air somewhat but there were days when the heat became so oppressive that the stench of the huge city rose all the way to the crest of Aegon's Hill. The flowers in the gardens were yellow, scorched. Aelinor watched the children in the palace slipping out of their shoes to run barefoot, only to put them back on almost immediately, for the earth burned their feet, bitter and barren. _Like me_, the Queen thought as she sat near the fountain with her book or embroidery.

She clung to her daily routine with devotion that surpassed her devotion to the Seven. Day after day, she rose at sunrise, had her bath, broke her fast, and attended to her correspondence. Useless she might be any day when it came to providing the kingdom with heir but she read each letter her subjects sent her, from the winded words of the noble-born asking for new posts to the heartrending clumsy words of peasants who had walked miles to find a man of letters, so they could lay their grievances – a cow stolen by their neighbor, a goodbrother who had expelled his widowed goodsister from home and was now keeping her children's inheritance for himself, a man's hens poisoned by an envious fellow-villager, a wise woman accused of practicing sorcery for giving birthing women a potion she claimed would reduce their pain… Nothing was unimportant enough not to merit her attention. Every day that brought her closer to the end of the hope of ever taking a child of her own in her arms turned her heart further towards those she could take care of – the poor ones, the bitter and wronged ones the Westeros noble-born so often overlooked, embroiled in their petty fights for the tiniest advantage that would lead them a breath ahead of the others. There was still meaning to her life. People needed her.

After lunch, it was time to give audience to various groups – new ambassadors, supplicants, newcomers to court and politic players. Then, she had her mare prepared and left to visit one or another of her King's Landing charities. The maesters shook their heads and muttered about her putting too much pressure on her bad leg but she did not want to hear them. Her need to do something good for people she knew trumped everything else. She gladly spent hours in discussing funds and repairs in the hospitals and shelters and visited the abodes themselves to see how the people were cared for.

Her visits to the orphanage for deaf children that she had taken over after her mother's death always reduced her to tears. It was one of the places she always went in her bright magnificent gowns, with diamonds on her throat and rubies in her hair, like a flame of colour and hope in this bleak silent world of the occupants. She gave them the clothes she had sewn for them, handed them fruits and desserts taken from the kitchens at the Red Keep, watched their games. They could not talk but they were happy and expressed their happiness with peculiar wide gestures, dances, movements… Silent adoration, tight embraces that spoke more than words… The youngest ones jumped like little animals, entangled themselves in her skirts, bit her elbows gently… The older ones pressed against her, kissed her gown and hands, opened their mouths helplessly and it looked to her as if they would scream any moment now…

It broke her heart and strengthened it at the same time. Made her feel enraged at the gods who were so cruel and blessed to be loved, if only out of gratitude…

Late in the afternoon, she returned to the Red Keep and took another bath. She spent the next few hours with her ladies before the evening feast. Lately, she had started leaving those as early as possible. The festivities she had once loved now only enhanced the loneliness of her life, the solitude of her bed. Others did enjoy them – those who had youth and hope. She had long ago lost both. She did not need to be reminded of a younger Aelinor, her buoyancy and her foolish hopes of changing Aerys or Maekar. Men did not change, she knew that now.

Night after night, she curtsied to the King and left, a gaping wound in her heart and a smile on her lips. But she did not return to Maegor's Holdfast. Trailed by her Kingsguard shadow, she went to her former rooms, now unoccupied, she stood at her window and watched life flow past her, just beneath her feet, lit by torches. Now, with the opulent heat of the sun melted away, the gardens came back to life, as well as the people who conspired, argued, and loved amidst the flower beds, under the heavy branches of the trees. Lovers lived at night. Songs stirred the air, addressed at this or that maiden, and Aelinor remembered the time she had been an object of such adoration as well. Now, she could no longer dance. She could no longer walk for long… and she could not deny the passing of years. Her looking glass didn't lie.

She could never have what women of lower rank had – closeness to someone who would take her in his arms and hold her tight, a warm body to wake up next to, someone who only needed to look at her to know that she hurt and make it better. She had tried once, and she had almost lost her life and took another life in the process. An innocent's life. She could never take that risk again. She only watched the lives of others and felt how empty and unneeded her own was. During the day, she filled it with activities but night mercilessly naked the lie bare: she would go to a cold bed, turn over in her sleep in more room that she needed, with no one to wake her up from a nightmare or rub her aching leg and hip and murmur that it would soon get better, that she should sleep and wake up healthy. She was scared of being alive. Of the fact that in the morning, she'd be still alive. Why should she breathe, eat or do something when it did not matter to anyone?

Maybe Maekar would come around, after all. He had always been able to make her feel that she wasn't alone, that there was someone who cared, who loved and wanted her, someone she meant the world to. Even if it wasn't quite true, it had still been nice.

Daella and Rhae needed some education that only King's Landing could give them. Surely he'd understand that? Sometimes, Aelinor indulged in thoughts of him coming to realize how wrong he had been, how grievously he had wronged her. Then, reality came crushing back, leaving her furious and humiliated. No, not Maekar. He'd always choose his pride. He was rarely able to see beyond it. Aelinor despised herself for that demeaning wish that sometimes crept in her soul like a snake – that he returned. But she wanted the girls to return. Always. At any hour. Her lips trembled as she remembered that last day, how they had played with her old gowns, so ridiculous and so convinced that they were stunning.

"You have sent for me, Your Grace."

Aelinor looked up as Shiera Seastar dropped her a curtsy. Her mismatched eyes gleamed with a soft sapphire and emerald glow, the lingering coquetry and joy of a courted woman. Brynden? Or one of the knights who still fought duels over her favour? What was it about Shiera that made her so different than the rest of them? Why wasn't she aging?

"I did. Please take a seat."

Shiera did and gave her a look under her eyelashes. What she saw did not serve to put her mind at ease. The Queen looked gaunt and exhausted, her cheekbones threatening to cut her skin. Blue veins were clearly visible on hands that were too thin for her golden bracelets. The shadows under her eyes showed that sleep had been evading her for a while. Silently, Shiera added a new sin to the steadily growing list of Maekar's flaws: he had turned his back on Aelinor when she most needed someone to stand by her, when she was as vulnerable as she had never been before, parting with her last hopes. She had never turned her back on him but of course, Maekar took it as his due. Which man didn't! And people wondered why she didn't want to take a husband. No, she'd never let herself become as dependable on one as Aelinor was on the men in her life.

But what Maekar had done would be equal to Shiera turning her back on Brynden immediately after Redgrass Field.

"Would you care for some tea?" Aelinor asked.

"I'll pour it," Shiera said immediately.

After a few sips, the Queen came to the crust of the matter. "I need your help," she said. Suddenly, her pale cheeks turned scarlet. "I know you have mastered the art of herbs. I'd like you to prepare a special kind of potion for me."

Finally! Long ago, when Aerys had made it clear that his ascending the Iron Throne did not mean that a single detail about his relationship with his sister would change, Shiera had made some offers to Aelinor, very discreetly. The other woman had turned her down firmly. In fact, she had looked aghast at what Shiera had been insinuating.

"It'll be ready for tomorrow night," Shiera said. "Not tonight, I need some herbs to be freshly plucked. Crush it as close to consummation as you can and pour a pinch of it in his wine… you can do it with water, as well. But not milk. The potion is a very strong one. He'll come to you in the matter of minutes."

Slowly, Aelinor looked up from the fountain she had been staring at since Shiera had started speaking. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "I don't want a love potion!"

Brynden's paramour did not look abashed. "It isn't a love potion," she insisted. "It's a passion potion. It'll give us the prince we need. And it'll give you the babe you want," she added. Shiera had never shared this longing most women seemed to have, this obsessive desire to have a child.

Aelinor's pale cheeks suddenly flushed, she rose abruptly and gasped, having stepped on her bad leg. Today, the pain was considerable.

For a blissful moment, she allowed herself to think that the plan might work. That Aerys would be unable to resist of whatever there was in that potion and would come to her and sire and heir to the Iron Throne. A child, a child of her own. Her blood sang with excitement before reality cane crushing back. She took away the soothing wishful ringing of the words and peeked at the inside. There was something vile about conceiving a child this way. Robbing someone of their free will, even Aerys, even for such a purpose, was a taint she could not live up with. Nothing good could come for a child conceived with such means. _And if Aerys comes to me, after all those years of longing and hoping, and I know it's because of some potion, I'll die._

"I was asking about another kind of potion," she finally said. "One that would put an end to my monthly fluxes and close my womb forever."

Shiera looked at her, at the fountain and then back at Aelinor. Her face expressed sheer amazement. "You want to speed the process most women are desperate to slow down?"

_I am desperate as well_, Aelinor thought. _They think I pray to the Mother to give me a son. If only they knew! If they knew that I have long ago stopped praying for something that would never come to pass. Now, I only pray to the Mother to help me stop desiring. But she isn't listening to me this time either. Maybe if my womb dies, this desire would die, as well. It has been the seven hells on earth._

"Does Maekar know how you feel?" Shiera asked guardedly. For a reason she had yet to fathom, Daeron's most unlikeable son had a way to liven Aelinor up, make her feel special and beloved. If she had let him know and he still hadn't come back, that would truly mean that he did not care – and never had. That he had been just using Aelinor all along for love and support, and mothering his children without giving anything back. Maekar Targaryen was a hard man to love, yet Aelinor had managed. Surely he did love her back, at least a little?

Aelinor glared at her. "Why should he know?" she snapped. "It is none of his concern. And I doubt he'll take it all that seriously even if he knew."

Shiera's relief was followed by a new pang of worry. If Aelinor believed this, she would lose another one of the things that sustained her through her sham of marriage, sham of motherhood, sham of life. Shiera wasn't sure just how much more the Queen could take.

"Don't say such things," she said. "Please. You never have before – never. You've always said, even when you were most angry with him, that you know how much he loves you. You've said that he likes it not but he feels it anyway."

Aelinor raised a hand to stop her. Her eyes had turned cold and black. "You are wrong, Shiera. That's what I've said: I know he loves me. He simply doesn't love me enough."


	4. A Hopeful Autumn

Choosing Pride

_A Hopeful Autumn_

_Has he gone mad_, Maekar wondered before shaking his head and smiling sardonically. It was Rhaegel that he was thinking about. He had been _born_ mad!

Three years into his absence from King's Landing, his brother's letters kept coming, not as regularly as Aelinor's missives to the girls but quite often. They were normal – well, normal for Rhaegel, anyway – and often cheerful. Maekar answered in kind, wondering whether Rhaegel had even realized what had happened. _I hope he hasn't._ Sometimes, Maekar wondered whether being mad didn't have some good sides to it, like being able to perceive only what one wanted to. Still, he wasn't sure how much of it was true ignorance and how much just a determination not to acknowledge the reality of the situation on Rhaegel's part. More than once, Maekar had caught his brother in such pretensions meant to repair relationships within the family and more than once, Rhaegel had surprised him by achieving his aim in this way. Whatever it was this time, he was not willing to cut this sole link leading him directly to those in King's Landing.

But this letter was different. No ramblings. Not a trace of cheerfulness. Instead, a very firm… err, suggestion that Maekar invited their sister to visit him in Summerhall where the air and climate might make a welcome change for her. Because, you see, Aelinor was badly exhausted and her health frailer than any person outside their closest circle would think. She had been overexerting herself with fulfilling her duties without any respite. Ah, the good old times when Maekar had been spending a part of the day with her and Rhae and Daella had taken quite a big share of her attention but in a good way – unlike her many current undertakings! In all this – the not quite written but abundantly clear accusation that Maekar had left Aelinor to her own devices. As if he was responsible for her decisions. As if he had taken the girls and himself away with the specific purpose of making her miserable. But indeed, now it was not the time to take offense. If Rhaegel's sunny disposition and determined will to see the best in everyone had failed him, the situation was probably just as bad as he perceived it – or even worse. It was one of Rhaegel's peculiarities – he was unusually attuned to the emotions of those around him, always looking for a way to make things better.

Outside, a golden autumn finally gave some relief from the heat of the years of summer. Maekar shook his head, as if he wanted to push both Rhaegel and the letter away and went to the window. Many years ago, as they had started turning the castle into a home of their own, Naeryn had insisted that he took for a study a room that overlooked a splendid garden of chestnut trees and exotic bushes that his mother had once had brought from Dorne. He had accepted without thinking too much and now, he thought with gratitude about her, about her way of feeling things without giving too many words to her perceptions. The sight and aroma of the garden was always a reprieve from the tiring and disheartening business that was conducted in this study ever so often.

He had no doubt that Aelinor was tiring herself into oblivion. She was very dutiful and strove to fulfill her obligations in a way exceeding all that could be reasonably expected. And with the way things with Aerys were going, she probably used duties as an outlet for the pain of her disappointment. Maekar was now sure that Aerys wouldn't come around to fathering an heir in the year or two Aelinor still had… if she did, in fact, have them. If she was lucky enough to conceive at that age if Aerys finally decided that it was worth a try. But being frail? Ill? That, he couldn't quite believe. Aelinor had always been a picture of health, almost never getting ill and when she did, beating even the most optimistic expectations with the speed of her recovery.

But she had been having troubles walking as early as three years ago, when he had left. Was it possible that she now experienced physical pain on a regular basis? Fifteen years ago, the maesters had warned that this might be the case one day. The thought of her lonely, sick, and desperate made him ache with pain he hadn't felt for years. Aelinor had been one or another of those things at a time. Never the three of them together. Maybe Rhaegel just knew that if he made Maekar believe that she suffered all of those now, that would break his pride and make him reach out, close the precipice that was hurting all of them. _You're wrong, brother. I am not willing to pretend that nothing happened. I was never the one to sail under false colours. I have more pride than this._

Now, his daughters came in the garden to pick some fallen leaves in glorious autumn gold and red. He smiled at watching their animated discussion – of which leaves they should collect, he supposed, because they were looking at them with expressions of deep reflection. He supposed that they would take some of them in their own rooms and others would find their way to bowls in his chambers, an artful decoration. One that Naeryn would have liked. _And Aelinor, as well_, he remembered. As a child, she had collected fallen leaves each time autumn came. And finally, as he watched the girls wrapped up in their occupation, he had to admit that he had deprived his sister of something that, strictly speaking, had never been hers but was precious beyond words.

* * *

She arrived in a soft evening a month later. The sun announced its retiring in the most splendid way, spreading a translucent veil of the most blinding shimmer over the hills, their grass, the autumn flowers. At the two sides of the roads, smallfolk had gathered to gawk at the magnificence of the royal party, the guards riding in the head of the column, and the litter in red and black with the dragon roaring at their gawking. The coins spread liberally in the procession's wake made the excitement grow.

The sight of the litter made Maekar sigh with both irritation and relief. If Aelinor had chosen to travel alternating horse and litter, she could not be as fragile as he had feared. Rhaegel had just used his weakness, his secret vulnerable spot – that was clearly not so secret after all! Did everyone know? Did Aerys?

All thoughts of Rhaegel and his manipulations vanished from his head as soon as he came near and Aelinor made her first steps after her Kingsguard shadow had assisted her out of the litter. The man was quite young and vaguely familiar but Maekar couldn't pin a name to his face. Right now, he didn't care either. The careless generosity of the sun accentuated Aelinor's terrible gauntness, the pallor of her complexion, the deep orbs that her eyes had become. Such was the delicacy of her skin that the small blood vessels drew dark lines underneath. The beating of the pulse at the side of her throat was also quite visible and Maekar felt pain just by watching her. _What have I done?_

But the eyes that met his were all but vulnerable. They stared at him without flinching, with haughtiness and pride reflecting his own. The only difference was that she was smiling when he could not force himself to. Women thought they should smile even at the ones they wanted to devour. And in this moment, Maekar realized that she had not come to him on her own will. Why should she? He was not the only one who had pride and it stood close to reason that with all his betrayals of her, she had finally had too much. He was surprised that Aerys and Rhaegel had managed to convince her at all to undertake this journey. In her shoes, he would have never given someone who had disappointed him so repeatedly another look.

_But it's easy for me to say so,_ he realized as he saw her looking around eagerly. _I've had all the things that make life worth living. I might have lost many of them but I did have them. I had a good marriage; I do have children who, disappointing or satisfying, made me happy. What has she had? _The memory of the bloodied linens in her bed all those years ago stung him yet again. A lifetime of disappointments did make one more pliable. No matter her feelings for him, she wanted to see Daella and Rhae.

After bowing at her, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Even her fingers were cold, bloodless, conveying hopeless. He didn't dare actually press his lips against them but still he felt a flickering disappointment when she didn't move her hand up for an actual kiss either. Was it how it was going to be from now on? All of a sudden, he only wished to hold her close and say that it hadn't been his fault, that he hadn't known, to beg her forgiveness and plead with her to let him near once again. It was not about love alone. She had always been the only member of his family whom he felt completely at ease with, the only one he had relied to want him no matter what – and she had, even after Ashford. He had counted on this desire to overcome whatever wrongs life forced him to do her. He couldn't explain why, he just had – too boldly, maybe.

"I hoped to see the girls," Aelinor finally said, still looking around. "Aren't they here?"

"They are," he replied. "I don't know why they haven't come yet. Come on, let's get you some refreshments."

By the look of her, he doubted she ate much more than a child. How had the maesters let her come to this?

"Let's go," Aelinor replied and despite her attempt to hide it, he heard the weariness in her voice, the effort that she had put into making a journey that once been a joyous activity. They had always loved coming here as children, whenever their grandfather's malicious will would let them a brief reprieve from their forced life in the capitol. They had fought every attempt to be contained to a litter even for a day, even for an hour – they had wanted to watch, as long as there had been light.

Preparations had been made for the Queen's arrival and Aelinor played her part magnificently, smiling and unfailingly polite. She even looked happy to see Daeron, for once completely sober and quite pleased to see her, as well. Maekar wondered what his son's dreams had been of late but decided that he was better off not knowing. He didn't need another talk of doom and dragons dying and reborn. For all his pride to be the blood of the dragon, he was pleased enough that the actual beasts had been put out of existence.

The girls ran into the hall a little later, breathless, with their hair still damp from the bath they had clearly taken at the last moment and very hurriedly. Aelinor rose immediately; and when after the obligatory curses they ran into her arms and Maekar saw her face as she clasped them tight to her, he let himself believe a little that Aelinor could still fight the utter despair that was her life, that one day she'd be able to let him near once again. Longing for human affection and meaningful interaction might turn out stronger than pride. Even one as great as hers… or his.

Deep inside, he already knew that no matter how things would go this time, no matter how she would treat him, he'd invite her over again.


	5. A Small Step

**Thank you for the reviews, VVSINGOFTHECROSS, they mean a ton.**

Choosing Pride

_A Small Step_

Not even a week later, Aelinor started getting better.

She was still very pale but her face was no longer yellowish, just a touch whiter than her usual fair complexion. The blood vessels on her cheeks and nose were less pronounced. Her eyes were no longer this sunken. And the smile that came to her lips ever so often, even when there was no visible reason to, transported Maekar back to the times before crowns and prophecies became even a fleeting thought in their mind, when they had been just young and happy.

But that didn't help with her bad leg. In fact, it made that worse. The limpwas still not overly pronounced but Maekar who was more attuned to every little change about her than anyone else could see the effort that mere walking now cost her. The maesters had been right and that filled him with anger and urge to hit something. It would become progressively worse as she aged. But his daughters couldn't see that, of course. They hadn't even noticed how terrible Aelinor had looked upon her arrival, just tried to suffocate her with embraces and kisses. _They miss their mother_, Maekar told himself, although he knew it couldn't be that. They had been so young when Naeryn had died, it was unlikely that they even remembered her, let alone miss her. No, they just missed a maternal figure in their lives. The woman who had played mother to them. And now that they had her, they wanted to take her everywhere, show her everything, forgetting that she had also grown up here. And Aelinor never reminded them or refused their invitations, putting more and more pressure on her bad leg. The way their relationship was, Maekar couldn't ask her to take care. In fact, she wouldn't have listened anyway…

Her coldness brought him to rage. She wouldn't let her mask slip even once. Although perfectly polite, she hadn't forgiven him and it showed. In fact, she didn't even try. She never talked to him first and when addressed, replied only in yes, no, and giving the information he needed. Her eyes slid past him, as if he could not be considered eve a worthy distraction, let alone a subject of interest. All that pained him, although he was well aware that he was not entitled to feeling this way.

Once again, he looked out the window. The girls had insisted that Aelinor accompany them on their ride immediately after they had broken their fast. It was almost noon now and they had yet to come back.

"Who went out with them?" he asked without looking back. "Do you know?"

Daeron shook his head, then, upon realizing that his father couldn't see him, said, "I have no idea. But I would rather have them here. I pleaded Aunt Aelinor not to go but they insisted, so she wouldn't hear of it."

The uncertainty in his voice made Maekar turn around and give him an inquiring lool. "You have dreamed of something?" he asked. For all the years of denial, there was nothing to do about it. Daeron's dreams were true. Especially when no one wanted them to be.

"Nothing that I can understand," the young man said. "It can be anything and anyone. It wasn't even something this terrible, just a black cloud that passed. It's stupid," he added sheepishly. "There is nothing endangering anyone, as far as I know. Even the pony they had been training for Rhae is ready now. She's been wheedling me to lift her on him for weeks."

"She tried to do this to me, as well," Maekar confirmed. "Silly child. Doesn't want to understand that untrained animals are dangerous. Ah, here they are."

His relief soon turned to icy fear that made his heart stop for a moment and then start pounding. Aelinor was slumped against the neck of her white mare that one of their men was guiding by walking beside. Her hair was in disarray. Even from this distance, Maekar could make out the dark stains on her face and riding skirt.

"What happened?" he asked urgently when he took Aelinor from the saddle. Even asking, he knew that it must have been an accident with her saddle since the one he now saw belonged to the man leading the mare – good and solid but not the richly decorated saddle that the Queen employed.

Aelinor felt impossibly light in his arms. He had underestimated just how much weight she had lost. Her eyes were glazed, she was struggling to stay awake. But a minute later, her head dropped against his shoulder and she moved a little; stunned, Maekar realized that she was making herself comfortable. Dizzy and scared, she had forgotten that she was angry with him and was just relieved that he was there, holding her. As if he had the power to make it better. "Don't go to sleep," he told her.

"I won't," she murmured.

"What happened?" he asked again.

White and shaking, the girls started explaining, Aelinor added her voice, and the result was that Maekar couldn't make out a word. But everything became clear when Daeron stepped forward, Aelinor's saddle in his hands.

"We must find the groom." That was all he said.

Maekar grimly nodded. His eyes went to his sister's face again. There was no need to look at the saddle twice. The girth had been cut almost all the way through, neatly and deliberately. Someone wanted Aelinor hurt, even killed.

"Was it one of your own entourage?" he asked.

She looked bedazzled. "I… I don't know…"

Clearly, she was in no state to answer his questions. Rhae did, though. "It was Clarant," she said. "It must have been him. He disappeared while we were trying to help Aunt Aelinor."

Her face was disbelieving. Had she inherited his eyes, or her mother's, they would have been now wide. But her Dornish eyes were so black that widening never showed. The old groom had been walking her pony around the court since she was old enough to be placed on its back. But now, Maekar had no time to explain that even people one had known since childhood could be bribed to do terrible things.

"Don't go to sleep," he said again and shook Aelinor a little to make sure that she wouldn't. "You," he told Daeron and the rest of the stunned crowd that had gathered to stare in horror at the dried blood in the Queen's hair, on her cheek and skirt. "I want Clarant found. Immediately."

Without looking back, he carried Aelinor inside and into her chambers.

* * *

When she woke up, it was night already – she could say by the pulled down curtains and the only candle burning far away from the bed. Confused, she tried to rise and immediately felt a pull in her shoulder. Scowling, she tried to push the neck of her nightdress down and see what the problem was. Was that a bruise over there? It certainly looked purple.

"Don't move," Maekar said, coming to the bed.

Frowning, Aelinor started to tell him that he wasn't invited but the world started spinning in front of her and when it stopped, the idea of him staying was not such a bad one. In fact, she wanted him to stay. Why had she decided that she didn't?

"What happened?" she asked.

"You fell down from your mare," he said. "You're fine, overall, thank the gods. But you have some bruises, some aches. You'd better stay put, just in case."

She tried to nod but the pain shooting through her head dissuaded her fast, so she stayed put and started trying moving her limbs, inch by inch. "I don't remember anything."

"Maester Godar said that was to be expected. You fainted there for a while and you were almost asleep when they got you here."

He was now sitting on the edge of her bed, his hand holding hers. He was warm, as always. Sometimes, Aelinor wondered could it be that he just had some extra blood volume. She had no other explanation. And no objection. The accident had carried their enmity away and now, it was just soothing to feel him near. He had always been a source of comfort to her – since he had been a newborn, her mother had said. The very presence of the babe had helped little Aelinor overcome her fears of being alone.

"Where are the girls?" she asked, suddenly concerned. She had all but forgotten that they had been there, had probably seen her fall. _How could I!_

Maekar smiled a little and pointed behind her; with a little groan, Aelinor turned on her side and smiled broadly at the sight of the two heads on the pillow next to her.

"They seized the moment when I was not here and your handmaidens couldn't override them," Maekar said apologetically. "And then, they refused to leave. I thought that leaving them there was better than arguing and waking you up."

"I am glad you left them here," Aelinor said simply, extended a heavy hand and stroked the head that was nearer. Daella's. "They weren't hurt, were they?"

"Not at all," Maekar assured her. "Unless you count their fear for you. They were beating themselves up over insisting that you go with them."

"How silly," Aelinor murmured, settling back against her pillows.

"Do you want me to blow the candle out?" Maekar asked, having taken notice of the way she looked in the opposite direction.

"No," she said. "Just move it so it doesn't shine at me."

He obeyed, put a small pot over the fire and then returned to his seat – not the edge of the bed, as not to take from her space, but a chair he had drawn near.

"That's what I told them," he said. "That they were not to blame, that they only wanted to spend time with you, that you were a woman grown and they were children… I failed to convince them."

"Of course they aren't to blame," Aelinor said. "It was just a fall…" She paused. "Maekar? I don't fall from horses." Another pause. "It wasn't an accident, was it?"

"No," he replied. "It wasn't."

She waited and in the meantime, amused herself by counting the fringes of the roof of the canopy.

"One of my grooms cut the girdle of your saddle and then covered it with the saddle itself. When your mare approached some trees with overhanging branches and you leaned against her neck, it parted. You went flying over her neck, straight against the branches. It's nothing short of magic that you only ended up with some bruises."

"Cut through," Aelinor repeated. "Cut through deliberately? Someone wanted me to be injured?"

"Not injured," Maekar denied. "Dead, my Queen."

She tried to make sense of it through the throbbing in her head. A cup of tea later, she was able to think almost clearly. She didn't need absolute clarity for this – it was so obvious. Someone wanted to make sure that the fragile relationship between Summerhall and King's Landing would be severed once and for all – and what better way than having Aerys' queen dead while she was visiting Maekar? Maekar who had invited her here. Rumours could be easily made up. Aelinor's death meant a step closer to the throne for Maekar, for thus even this small chance that she might give birth to an heir would be eliminated. People loved rumours. And it wouldn't have been Maekar's first kinslaying, after all. With tensions painstakingly stoked high enough, the realm could have been easily plunged into a war, Targaryen against Targaryen. Why, if one of the murderers that kept finding their way to the Red Keep succeeded in doing away with Aerys, that would no doubt be laid at Maekar's feet, as well. No one in their right mind would cast any doubt upon Rhaegel.

"I see you've got it," Maekar spoke. "One day, I'll kill Bittersteel, I swear! Slowly," he added.

"Do we know for sure it was him?"

"We do," he replied. "When inquired properly, the groom started spilling his guts out."

There was something sinister about his soft voice and complete lack of expression. Aelinor shivered. 'What's going to happen to him?" she asked and then wondered why she had. She knew that there could be only one punishment.

"He'll be tortured and executed. He told us that he was suffering from the yellow sickness and the money Bittersteel paid him were the only chance he got to ensure that his family would lack for nothing. Of course, they won't get a coin," he added.

Suddenly so very tired, Aelinor fought to stay awake. "Tortured," she repeated. "Is that really needed? I mean, I understand that…"

"No, you don't." There was something feral in his eyes. "One of my men tried to kill you, Aelinor, and that is something that I cannot condone or give any form of mercy to. He made a grave mistake. I won't let anyone as much as lay a finger upon you."

Now all awake, Aelinor stared at him, at his tight mouth, the eyes that bore into hers. He would not be dissuaded. And deep inside, she felt satisfaction that made her sick. He was ready to go against his principles that while execution was a just thing, torture preceding it was a cruelty that should not be allowed – just for her. How sweet this _just for her_ was.

"When you go back to King's Landing," Maekar went on, "you can take the girls for a few months. I believe it'll be better for everyone."

He was still speaking, saying something else but Aelinor could no longer listen – sleep overcame her. This time, it came with the comforting notion that he had done what he could to close the rift. She had not expected that he'd let go of his pride, even now, and he hadn't. But it was still a step.


End file.
